


The Secret of the Scarf

by TheMarvelousMadMadamMim



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Fireside Confessions, Pre-Series, eventually soft wives being soft, pre-relationship ish?, winter warmers 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:21:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23827513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim/pseuds/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim
Summary: Once again, Ada goes out into the snow without her scarf. Of course, Hecate has not choice but to join her.
Relationships: Amelia Cackle | Ada Cackle/Hardbroom
Comments: 15
Kudos: 42





	The Secret of the Scarf

**Author's Note:**

> So...I wrote this AGES ago for the 2019 Worst Witch Winter Warmers event, and then, just...didn't edit and post it. So there's that.

Nurturing is not something that came naturally to Hecate Hardbroom—though it was second nature now, there were still times when the emphasis was decidedly on _second_. As in, not her first instinct.

She had to learn, with Morgana. Her first familiar, Morrigan, had been an entirely self-sufficient cat, who in all honesty had probably taken her cue from the young and headstrong Joy. More times than she cared to admit, Hecate had realized with chagrin that she’d forgotten to feed poor little Morgana, so wrapped up in her lesson plans or grading or whatever else.

She still gets that way sometimes with others, though she tells herself that she’s getting better. Ada is always forgiving about it, always understanding that Hecate had been forced into self-sufficiency as a child and never really had a chance to be interdependent on others, and therefore still forgets, sometimes, that others do not always share her background or inclinations.

However, _sometimes_ , it is entirely easy to nurture.

Basically anytime it centers around Ada Cackle, to be exact. Ada has always been kind, which had certainly endeared Hecate to her (granted, after a long and cautious road to friendship, because initially Hecate couldn’t fathom someone being kind simply because they _could_ , without motive, without manipulation). But upon becoming headmistress, it had been Ada’s desperate need to get it right that had truly pulled out the impulse in Hecate. She understood—goddess, how she understood—that desperation, that desire. And more than anything, she wanted Ada to succeed.

So, naturally, she did her best to ensure that Ada _could_ succeed.

But sometimes, her actions have very little to do with Ada’s role as headmistress, and more to do with Ada’s role in her affections.

Like when she looks up from her reading to see Ada Cackle clipping through the snow, her happiness evident even at a distance—and sees the woman is not wearing a scarf. Hecate is comfortably installed by a fire, but even now she can feel the cold draft from the nearby window, knowing it’s far more intense outside. Lips pressing into a thin line, she dons her own cloak and gloves before transferring away, blindingly pink scarf in tow.

Ada jumps a bit at Hecate’s sudden appearance, laughing in a skittering, breathless way. “Well met, Miss Hardbroom.”

“If you wish to die, you should choose a more creative option than pneumonia,” Hecate thrusts the scarf towards her headmistress. “It’s been a bit overdone, one would think.”

Ada chuckles again, taking the scarf and gingerly wrapping it around her neck.

“Better?” She asks. Hecate merely nods in approval. Unable to stop herself, Ada points out, “ _You’re_ not wearing a scarf.”

“Because _I_ do not plan to be here long,” the woman drawls. She’s stone-faced, but Ada’s learned to watch the light in her eyes, to be able to sense when she’s actually bantering.

As always, Ada can’t resist, not when it’s light and playful like this, not when it’s just the two of them, “And how do you know that I will be?”

Now her deputy merely arches a brow, nearly incredulous. “Because I know _you_ , Ada Cackle. You’ll stay out here all day, beyond all rhyme or reason.”

“It’s beautiful,” Ada returns simply, no teasing this time.

“It is,” Hecate agrees quietly. But she isn’t looking at the snow—oh, her eyes slide away, trying to recover, trying to pretend she’d actually noticed the landscape around them, but Ada saw, and Ada knows. It isn’t the added layer of scarf that warms her now.

Here they are again, bumping at the edges of the uncrossable line, twittering around the unseen, unspoken thing. Ada knows what comes next, what must always come next—the retreat. So she ducks her head and shuffles a bit, turning to head down the garden path. “Thank you. I’ll let you return to your book.”

Hecate didn’t have to tell her that she’d been reading in front of the library’s large fireplace—because just as Hecate knows Ada, Ada knows Hecate. Knows how she spends her days, in the quiet times when they’re practically alone in this rambling castle, alone together and happily adjusted to their own little rhythm that hints at all the _more_ they could have, if only.

Maybe it’s the biting chill of the air that snaps Ada out of obedience to their usual script. Maybe it’s the shininess of the season, when everything seems new and fresh, and anything is possible, if one believes, if one wishes hard enough, if one wants deeply enough (and oh, how she has _wished_ , and oh, how she has _wanted_ ). Maybe it’s sheer madness, plain and simple.

Whatever it is, it makes her stop, turning back to see Hecate watching her walk away with that soft expression that never fails to melt Ada’s heart.

“Unless…”

Hecate perks up, like a cat hearing the first fluttering sound of a mouse.

“Unless, of course, you’d like to join me.” Ada’s offering more than a walk, they both know.

The questioning lines around Hecate’s expressive eyes dissipate. She’s calculating, weighing and processing and seeing every potential outcome—and again, this caution actually makes Ada’s heart soar, because it means that Hecate understands, Hecate knows this offer is more than just a walk, Hecate knows and she wants it (because, yes, Ada can see that too, has seen that in so many little ways, for so many years), but she isn’t sure how much she’s willing to risk to try for it.

It isn’t that Ada doesn’t know how Hecate wants her—she’s made that quite plainly, several times now. But those moments are still tricky and undefinable, still so full of hesitation and fear. It’s that Ada doesn’t know if Hecate will ever allow herself to accept that she’s truly able to have everything she wants, and more.

Then, with a small, definitive nod, she makes her judgment. Ada doesn’t try to hide how happy this makes her, and her joy is rewarded with a shy smile from Hecate as well.

Hecate offers her arm—a bit of a bold move, considering it’s outdoors, in the light of day (yes, they touch now, but only in the dark, only behind closed doors, only on rare occasions, far less often than either of them would like, but maybe, Ada thinks, Ada prays, Ada hopes beyond hope, _maybe_ this will change). Ada gratefully accepts, snuggles closer, feeling another measure of victory for the way Hecate counters by shifting closer, too.

“You still don’t have a scarf,” Ada points out, still never one to leave an argument unwon.

Hecate huffs, amusement tinging the edges of her exasperation. Ada knows exactly how the woman would kiss her, if they were in Ada’s chambers. Harsh and hot in a way that never fails to make Ada’s head spin.

A scarf appears around Hecate’s neck. “Better?”

“Better.”

They crunch their way through the snow and Ada’s heart continues to sing at the way Hecate absentmindedly strokes at her gloved hand, wrapped around Hecate’s elbow. She thinks of the nights that they do share a bed, even if only for a few hours—sometimes, when Hecate thinks she’s asleep, she strokes the top of Ada’s hair with this same soft adoration, fingertips full of airy wonder. Like she can’t quite believe Ada’s real, Ada’s here, and she half-fears touching her, fears meeting only air instead of flesh and bone. Like perhaps she’s dreamt of this, as long and as often as Ada, and she still fears it’s all some grand illusion.

Sometimes Ada feels that way, too. When Hecate slips from her bed—or she from Hecate’s—and a few hours later they’re in a staff meeting, both pretending as if nothing ever happened, sometimes Ada _does_ fear that nothing truly has ever happened.

Not that she regrets their current arrangement, at all. It’s more than they’ve ever had, more than she’d ever dreamed of having. She loves the quiet softness of Hecate in the dark, as whisperingly ethereal as her namesake, almost like the best of dreams, lit only by candle and moon.

Still. She can’t stop herself from wishing to have more. To have a thing of the daylight, too. To see Hecate in the morning, sleepy-eyed and warm and still there, still curled up next to her as the snow falls quietly outside her window.

It’s a holiday, she thinks. They could give themselves a holiday of sorts—a holiday from the confines of their arrangement, as it were.

And in a way, Hecate is giving her that now. They’ve walked through the gardens dozens of times over the years—but now they’re holding on to each other, strolling like lovers in the snow, and neither is looking around, worried about a staff member or a student appearing. It’s just them, alone together.

But Hecate is not one built for the cold. It isn’t long before Ada can feel her body tensing, feel the shivers she’s trying to suppress.

“Time for tea,” Ada announces, and Hecate doesn’t even try to hide her relief.

Ada transfers them to the library, convincing Hecate to sit on the floor in front of the fire as they sip their tea and talk about everything and nothing. Before long, Ada sets her tea to the side and simply takes Hecate’s hand in her own, letting her fingertips lovingly trace over the lines of Hecate’s palm. Hecate shivers, and this time Ada knows it’s not from the cold.

“Ada…”

She expects to hear warning, but that’s not what colors Hecate’s tone. She looks up to find the woman leaning in, dark eyes glittering with the fire’s reflection. Hecate’s hand slips from the cage of Ada’s fingers, lifting up to the side of Ada’s face, pulling back before she actually touches her. And quietly, so quietly it seems to shatter the whole world, she breathes, “May I…”

Ada nods. It doesn’t matter what the rest of the question is—whatever it is, she absolutely may. She hears the soft clink of porcelain as Hecate’s other hand sets down her teacup. Then Hecate’s hands are on either side of Ada’s face, pulling her closer. There’s a softness in the kiss that follows, warm and slow and languid in a way that they never get to be. Ada can’t stop herself from moaning as Hecate’s fingers slip further back, tangling in the hair at the nape of Ada’s neck and tightening with a possessiveness that never fails to make Ada see stars.

She hears the sharp intake of breath from Hecate, a sound that has only been heard in the dark, and Ada feels a bubble of awestruck delight. She opens her eyes again to see Hecate staring back at her, so beautiful in the shining light of day, equally aware of the new territory they’ve brought themselves to.

“Is this…acceptable?” Hecate arches a brow, so adorably uncertain.

Ada smiles. Her grin deepens at the way Hecate melts in relief upon seeing it. “More than acceptable.”

And again, because Ada can’t help herself when it’s just the two of them, she adds, “But if you’re going for _unacceptable_ behaviors, I do have a few suggestions.”

“Only a few?” Hecate smirks knowingly.

“For starters,” Ada amends. Hecate chuckles silently at that. She’s stroking Ada’s hair again, and Ada realizes this is the first time she’s done that when she didn’t think Ada was asleep. Leaps and bounds in a single day, she thinks. They’ve got two whole weeks left of this half-term holiday, who knows where they’ll be by then?

It will not be until many years later, during another winter half-term, when they’re sprawled out in front of the library fireplace again, Ada’s head in Hecate’s lap as Hecate reads aloud, still stroking Ada’s now-blonde hair in a now-achingly-familiar way, that Ada confesses.

She didn’t wear her scarf on purpose. And she walked right in front of the window next to Hecate’s reading nook, on purpose.

Hecate just laughs, completely unsurprised. After all, for years now, Hecate’s been constantly calling forth scarves and mittens and hats for her wife—she may not be the shiniest cauldron in the lab, but she’s begun to detect a pattern.

And later, when they go out for one last walk before dinner, she can’t help but laugh again at the way Ada steps outside, turning to her with expectant eyes. She holds open her hands and magicks a scarf—an exact replica of the one she summoned for Ada that wonderful, life-changing afternoon, so many years ago.

"Better?" She asks, voice barely a murmur as she adjusts the pink fabric atop her wife's shoulders. This is the thing they say, every time now. A shorthand version of _I love you,_ part of their own language they've built over the years.

Ada's playful grin mutes into something softer, something warmer. She gives a small nod.

"Better."


End file.
